Fifties Shades of Grey
by Ursa Dextra
Summary: Hancock's Half-Hour: Sid's sister comes to visit - unfortunately, Hancock falls head-over-heels in love with her. (M-rated for kinky stuff.)
1. Wednesday Morning, First Thing

**A/N: Originally, this was inspired by some of the darker undertones/implications in some episodes, though as it developed it also became a study of Hancock's innocence and vulnerability that diminish a little in later serii. It also set me off speculating about Sid's family background, which I can't think is ever discussed.**

**Judy is completely OC; not based on, or conciously inspired by, anyone.**

The woman at the door, with a suitcase in each hand and a hat box under one arm, is not someone Hancock recognises. She is around thirty years old, fairly tall – a good couple of inches his superior - with a face that's more friendly and reassuring than particularly beautiful; she is wearing a light grey dress with white polka dots, and, as it's promising to be another hot Summer day, a white sun-hat. She has a general aura of effortless confidence and breezy cheerfulness.

"Good morning!" she says brightly, resting one suitcase on the ground so she can extend one hand to him, "You must be Anthony. I'm Judy."

"Oh, err – hello, Judy." he replies, still none the wiser, as he shakes her hand absent-mindedly.

"Sid's sister?"

"Oh! Oh. I didn't even realise he _had_ a sister. Well, I suppose you ought to come in then. He's just having a bath or whatever he does in the bathroom for hours every morning, he'll be down in a minute. I'll have my servant make you some tea while you wait." He turns to the kitchen door and calls to Mrs. Crevatte to bring another cup of tea, as Sid's sister has just dropped by.

"Didn't my brother tell you I was coming?" she asks as she heaves her luggage into the hallway, "I hope it's not a problem, me staying for a few days? I'll try to keep out of the way and tidy up after myself, of course – you'll hardly know I'm here."

"Oh no, no, it's not a problem, I'm just surprised he didn't say so. I'm not sure where he's expecting you to sleep, we don't have a spare room or anything. "

"Well, I was supposed to be arriving tomorrow really, so he might have been going to tell you today. Anyway, he mentioned you had a sofa?"

"Oh, _that. _Well, it's more of a chaise-longue really, it's not made for sleeping on. I suppose it might be alright for a couple of nights if you're desperate, but – well, come and see it."

She follows him into the living room, upright and graceful as if carrying a book on her head. She perches upon the chaise-longue, which clearly meets with her approval, and she kicks off her shoes and sweeps off her hat so she can recline on it. Her attention is caught by a bookshelf just behind her head, and she leans back over the arm-rest to view it upside-down.

"You've got a good little book collection here!" she comments, trailing one finger along their spines.

"Oh yes, they're all my own."

"All the classics – all the ones worth reading, anyway. We'll have to talk about literature sometime. It's nice to meet someone else who reads proper books."

"Yes... Yes, it is. _Proper_ books. You won't find any rubbish on that shelf. Err..."

The housekeeper comes shuffling in carrying two cups of tea.

"This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Crevatte." says Hancock, waving a hand in her general direction. "Mrs Crevatte, this is Judy, Sid's sister. She's here for a few days for... while..." his voice trails off as he realises that he still has no idea why the visitor is here.

"...Until I find somewhere else to live," Judy explains, "I used to have a little flat but I fell out with my landlady, so Sid very kindly said I could stay here."

"So you're the sister of Mr. James, then?" Says Mrs. Crevatte, looking her up and down. "You doesn't look much like him."

"No," she replies, with a giggle like a stream bubbling over pebbles. "we aren't very alike at all."

"No, you ain't. Well, what sort of breakfast's you wanting?"

"Could you just make me a slice of toast, please? I have to dash off to work in ten minutes." She sits up to sip her tea as the housekeeper returns to the kitchen.

"You'll have to excuse Mrs. Crevatte," says Hancock, who has taken his teat at the table, "she's always difficult. But it's so hard to find good staff these days."

"Oh, I know! I work up at the hotel off the High Street, in admin, and some of our cleaners are terrible. Sometimes they steal things that get left behind, or don't bother changing the beds if they look clean enough - don't tell anyone I said that, though!" she laughs, and takes another sip of her tea. There is a pause as they both smile awkwardly at each other, and eventually she continues in a slightly lower tone. "I'll tell you this now Anthony, before my brother comes down..."

"Yes, what?"

"This is going to be the first time we've met in – oh, eight or nine years. You see, he was very over-protective of me when I was in my teens, and whenever I met his friends he'd be hovering around making sure they didn't talk to me, and if I went out anywhere he wanted to know where I was going and who with, all that kind of thing. So obviously that annoyed me, but he just got worse and worse and we ended up falling out about it. It's only because our mother's so ill, and she made us promise to try and get along again, that we've been back in touch. She suggested I should stay here while I'm house-seeking."

"Really? That doesn't sound like him at all. Are you sure you're in the right house? This is 23 Railway Cuttings."

"I know, you wouldn't think it of him, would you? He seems so laid-back. But yes, that's what happened."

"Dear oh dear!" sighs Hancock after another pause. "This is a lot to take in at this time in the morning, I've hardly been awake an hour."

"I'm sorry, I really am. I thought you'd be expecting me. I'm going to be out at work all day though, so I won't be in your way."

At this moment, Sid enters the room. Judy instantly skips to her feet and glides over to wrap her arms around his neck in one graceful sweep.

"Oh, Sidney!" she coos, "My dear brother. It's been so long since I've seen you. I hope we can be friends again now? Is the past behind us?"

"Yeah, yeah, the past's behind us. I thought it was tomorrow you were coming, anyway?" He pats her shoulder in a perfunctory manner, pushing her away a little, and bids Hancock a good morning.

"Didn't you get my letter?"

"No," he replies in a wryly sarcastic tone, "it must have got lost in the post."

Judy turns to Hancock and rolls her eyes. He unthinkingly returns the gesture, although it doesn't escape Sid's notice, and he demands to know what that look was for; but at that moment, Mrs. Crevatte comes bustling in with a plate of breakfast apiece.

"I'll be off home now," she announces as she dumps the plates on the table, "you'll have to wash up yourselves."

"You're not washing up?!" cries Hancock incredulously, "What do I pay you for, woman?"

"One hour a day, that's what you pays me for. I'll be seeing you tomorrow then." With that, she shows herself out.

"What are you doing all day then, Hancock?" says Sid aggressively, "What's stopping you doing the washing up?"

"What am I _doing_? What am_ I_ doing?! I'll have you know I have a very full schedule today. I have to be at my rehearsal at half past two, and I have to learn my lines before then – after I've read the paper and done the crossword, of course. My feet are hardly going to touch the floor all day. What are you doing that's so important, anyway?"

"Ask no questions, you'll be told no lies. Then I'm going to the hospital to visit Mum." He turns to Judy. "Why don't you meet me there after work? It'll make her happy to see us together."

"Yes, I will." Says Judy, finishing her toast. "I'd like to hear about this play that Anthony's in, though!"

"Oh, my play, well, it's just a bit of nothing really, I mean, it's a proper play and everything don't get me wrong, but I really prefer, you know, Shakespeare or... err... that sort of thing, but anyway, this one, well..." begins Hancock, but Sid cuts him off.

"Haven't you got a job to be going to?"

"Yes." Sighs Judy with resignation. "Yes, I have. I'll just get my handbag." She traipses out into the hallway to retrieve it from her suitcase, then comes back to pick up her shoes and hat.

"Look, you've upset her!" says Hancock to Sid. "What's wrong with you today? Was someone rude to you in your dream or something?"

"Oh, put a sock in it."

"I will _not_ put a sock in it!"

"Well, goodbye then boys," says Judy from the doorway. "I'll see you both tonight."

"Yeah, bye." Sid replies without turning round.

"Goodbye, Judy." says Hancock. He feels that there should be something else to be said, but can't quite think what it is, so he smiles broadly to her instead, and carries on even after she's left.

"Do you like her, then?" asks Sid.

"Sorry, what? I was thinking about something else."

"I said, do you like her?"

"She seems perfectly agreeable, I won't mind her being here. I just wish you'd warned me she was coming."

"I was going to tell you tonight, but she turned up a day early. I didn't want you making a fuss or anything, see?"

"Oh, Sid! When do I _ever_ make a fuss?"

"...Yeah, never mind. Anyway, don't get too attached to her, OK? I'd have kept you two apart, but – well, Mum suggested it, and I don't want her upset while she's ill."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I saw that stupid grin on your mug as she walked out. Don't let her get to you."

"And why ever not?" says Hancock indignantly. "Am I not good enough for your sister? Do you think I'm going to lead her astray? Do you even think that _she_, alone amongst all the women I've ever met, would be interested in _me_?"

"Look, just leave her alone. Don't even think about it."

"I don't think I like your tone. Why can't I enjoy her presence if she's here in my house? Are you suggesting I'd... _ I'd try it on _with her? I hardly spoke to her!"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, it's – Let's say, I don't want you getting hurt."

"_Sid_!" exclaims Hancock, quite on-edge. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm not accusing you, I'm not threatening you, I'm just warning you. Don't get involved."

"Oh Sid, I don't like the sound of this at all!" Hancock gets to his feet, begins pacing the room in a state of agitation. "We're not going to fall out, are we? Did you think I'd not notice she was here? Was I supposed to leave her knocking on the door all morning?"

"I haven't got time for this," sighs Sid, finishing his breakfast and standing up. "I've got to see a man about a dog."

"You started it! Anyway, how can you talk to me about morality when you're going out fixing races? What about all those poor innocent people, putting their bets on dogs that won't win? While you stand there and accuse me of eyeing up your _beloved_ sister – who you haven't even seen for the thick end of a decade!"

"Thick end of a decade, hey? Hmm." He nods thoughtfully as he reaches for his cap and drifts doorwards. "I'll see you tonight then." And with that, he's gone.


	2. Green Lambent Scintillation

"Yes, you get out of my sight." Hancock mutters to the door that his housemate has recently passed through, "How dare you stand there threatening me? In my own house! I wouldn't have thought it of you, but it seems your sister was right after all. Poor girl, having to grow up with you looming over her all the time. What do you think, she'll just roll over for any man who offers her a Custard Cream, like those birds you take out? Ha! Any fool can see at a glance, she's better than that. She's got class, she's got deportment, she's got _je ne sais quoi_! Oh, Judy..." his gaze drifts off into middle distance and the smile creeps back across his face as he pictures how she lay back on the chaise longue, kicking off her shoes, giggling. The sweeping lines of her limbs and her skirts, the gentle curve of her waist. "Judy, lovely Judy. Like one of those birds off an advert for kitchen appliances. Oh, you'll be a breath of fresh air round this old place. How you can be cut from the same cloth as Old Potato-Face is beyond me, one of you must be adopted. Well, all this isn't getting my lines learned, I'd better get some work done."

He picks up his script from the windowsill, where he'd left it, and notices the draught coming under the window frame is unusually warm.

"Hmm. Looks like it's going to be another hot one. It'll get very stuffy in here in an hour or two, I expect. Maybe I ought to do this in the back garden, let the light zephyrs clear my mind. Yes, I like that actually – 'let the light zephyrs clear my mind'. That's what I shall say if anyone asks what I'm up to. Do I mean zephyrs, or zeniths? Or vespers? Well, whatever they are, they're clearing my mind ready for this script to enter. Yes, that sounds better than washing up. I'll sit under my oak tree and memorise these words – it won't take too long, I die at the end of Scene One."

He rolls up his sleeves and unfastens the top button of his shirt as protection against overheating, and waddles out into the garden to find a shady spot beneath the boughs of the tree. Lying back on the grass, he turns to the first page and begins to skim though the other characters' lines – but his mind is still so alive with his argument with Sid, or how he could possibly engineer a conversation with Judy, or excuses he could use for having not memorised his handful of lines over the last month, there's no way he can concentrate. He takes his eyes off the words for a moment, and concentrates instead on the green lambent scintillation of the leaves overhead, the birdsong, the smell of next-door's fresh-mown grass... A butterfly alights on his nose very briefly before fluttering away again. He lights a cigarette, watches the smoke drift away in the breeze.

"Anthony? Are you awake?"

Hancock startles out of his snooze and brushes away the script, which has fallen across his face. The shadows have moved since he dozed off, and the hot sun is now shining straight down on him; he sits up, shading his eyes with one hand, and find himself face-to-face with Judy. She is kneeling on the grass beside him holding a tray on which are two glasses of lemonade and a plate piled up with small triangular sandwiches.

"Sorry I woke you. I brought you some lunch. There's cheese, ham, or jam sandwiches"

"Oh, err – thankyou." he says, a little bemused, taking a jam sandwich. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to one."

"Quarter to one?! I've been asleep three hours, I need to get this script learned!" He drops the sandwich and scrabbles around on the grass for the papers, beginning to panic. "I've got to be at my rehearsal two hours, I have to–"

"Hush, don't worry..." says Judy in a soothing purr, reaching out to stroke his hair. "you won't learn anything if you get in a flap, will you? Come and have some lunch, and talk to me."

"No." He sighs, and leaves the script at his feet. "No, you're right. I'll concentrate better when I've had some food, and a rest."

"I only came to talk to you. You're so interesting. You're obviously very clever and sophisticated, I could tell as soon as I met you, you know."

"Well I – I couldn't possibly comment..." He tries to look modest, but fails miserably.

"I'd love to see this play you're in. When's it on?"

"Friday night, at seven. All the cast are allowed a free ticket, you could have mine."

"Oh, it's alright, you must have a girlfriend or someone you'd rather give it to..."

"No, no, no, no, I don't have a girlfriend – you'd be stuck at home on your own otherwise, Sid's going out to the dog track until late – I'd like you to come. We could..." he pauses to collect himself, feeling quite jittery as he realises what he's about to do, "...we could... I could..."

"Yes?" she asks, wither head on one side and a warm, gentle smile on her lips.

"I'd..." he hesitates another moment, then decides to just blurt it out: "...take you out somewhere?"

"Oh Anthony, that's really sweet of you! Of course I'd like to come out with you. It'd be nice. And neither of us is going to tell my brother, are we?"

Hancock's eyes grow large and round as he gazes at her adoringly, gasping with surprise, a little dazed. "Really?! You really want to?"

"Yes, of course! You're a good man, aren't you? I'd be safe with you." She picks up a sandwich and pushes into his half-open mouth, then strokes his hair some more. "Do you like these sandwiches? They're from work, there's always lots of leftovers lying around the kitchens - my office is right next door, so I get first dibs." She takes one for herself, and daintily nibbles a corner.

"Yes, they're very tasty." He isn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved at the anti-climax; so, this is what happens when you ask out a girl and she says yes. You just eat another sandwich. Still, it was nice having his hair stroked. Maybe she'll do it again on Friday night. Two days away.

"This garden's lovely," says Judy dreamily, "I've always wanted a garden of my own - I don't think I'll ever have one though, unless I win the pools or something. I'd like to grow vegetables, it'd remind me of the good old days when I was a Land Girl. Oh, we had such a nice time, you know, me and the other girls – of course, they're all married with children now, and I don't have anything in common with them anymore. Quite sad really, I'm only thirty but I feel like an old maid. Well, that's enough about my woes. How does an attractive man like you manage to stay single?"

"I'm sure I don't know!" replies Hancock, blushing a little. "I just never met the right girl, I suppose. I only seem to meet very picky ones who are always storming off in a huff over nothing. There's not a lot a very good selection round here, you know. Not a lot of class."

"Oh dear! Sounds like the same problem I have." She pauses to take a bite of sandwich before continuing. "I've met so many boys who – I don't want to be horrible about them, they were nice enough, but – oh, they're just so _ordinary_! People like you and me, Anthony... we're just _better_ than them, aren't we? It's not a nice thing to say, but I can't think how else to put it. We're a higher standard."

"Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean. I feel like that all the time."

"I'm glad you understand. I don't think anyone else would." She reaches for his hand and gives it a squeeze as she meets his gaze. "Anthony, sweetie! You're smiling, but you still look so sad. I wonder if I can cheer you up."

"Don't worry about me, I'm not really sad, it's just that I've got sad eyelids. I try to make them look more perky but they keep on falling like this."

"No, it's deeper than that." She leans a little closer, so their shoulders are touching and he can feel her breath on his face. "Do you feel lonely?"

"Of course I get lonely here with only Sid for company. No-one listens to me."

"He's a bully, isn't he. Does he pick on you?"

"Oh yes, all the time! Only this morning, he said he'd _hurt_ me if – oh, God!" he flinches away from her, wrenching his hand from her grasp.

"What, what's wrong?"

"If he sees us together, if he comes home – if the neighbours see us and tell him – What's he going to _do_ to me, Judy?!

"It's alright, it's alright. He said he'd be out all day, and even if he does come home early, we'll hear him come through the front door, and we can say we're just having a picnic, won't we? 'Nothing to see here, just nice sandwiches and lemonade. Why don't you have one?' that's what we'll tell him." She reaches out to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Yes, we'll say that. He can't complain about that, can he? He won't be upset about a picnic. But what _does_ he do to men who look at you?"

"Well, his bark's worse than his bite really, and you _are_ his best friend. He'll probably just shout at you the first time, give you a smack at worst."

"Hmm – I don't know, it's probably worth the risk then."

"Ooh, Sweetie!" she exclaims in a pained, sympathetic hoot of a voice, "Your back's so knotty."

"Knotty?"

"All the muscles are tensed up." She presses her fingertips into his back a few times. "You must feel so stiff."

"Yes – yes, they are, aren't they? I do get stiff, you're right again."

"Is Sid going to be out again tomorrow lunchtime?"

"I expect so, he's got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies at the moment. Why do you ask?"

"Because, if you like..." she shuffles close to him again, and lowers her voice as she moves nearer to his ear. "I could come back tomorrow lunchtime..." she leans closer still, so her nose is almost, but not quite, touching his cheek. "And I'd give you a massage? Would you like that?"

"I – um – well, I never – no-one ever –" he falters, struggling to remember how to form words.

"You'd _love_ that, wouldn't you? Just nod."

He nods cautiously at first, then more enthusiastically as her smile widens and she begins to imitate him. He begins to wonder if perhaps her face is moving even closer to his, as if she might be turning her head ever so slightly to line up for a kiss? Would it be the right thing to do, perhaps, to lean closer, to turn his head the opposite way, to meet her en route? She wouldn't slap him and run off, would she, the signs have been good so far. He begins to lean towards her, imperceptibly slowly.

"I'd better be getting back to work, look at the time!" she says suddenly, standing up and picking up the last-but-one sandwich.

Hancock, finding his face full of skirt unexpectedly, scrambles to his feet and follows her back into the house and through to the front door like an obedient dog.

"I'll say goodbye for now, then." says Judy with a smile as she opens the door.

"Yes," he sighs, a little sadly, biting his lip. "I love you later."

"Hmm? What was that?"

"Oh, um, I said, I said I'll _see_ you later!" he gabbles in a panic, "_See_, I said _see_!"

"Ha, I thought you said something else! Well. Bye, then."And very quickly, before he's even realised what she's about to do, she presses a very small kiss to his cheek and skips over the threshold and away.

Hancock watches her disappear up the street, occasionally turning to smile and wave; he responds in kind. He doesn't close the door until she's out of sight round the corner, and leans his back against it as he grins uncontrollably, giddy and overwhelmed by the whole experience, all the lovely things she said. She's so perfect, everything he's always wished for, all that everyone else isn't. It's like she can see into his soul... and she's going to go on a date with him! And give him a massage. It was all so easy, as if she'd actually wanted to be there and found him interesting. Oh, it's just going to be heaven with chocolate sprinkles. Finally, finally after all these years, all his birthdays and Christmases have come at once. She even gave him a kiss! He can still feel it, tingling like an electric shock. He wraps his arms tight around himself and tips over to lie on the floor of the hallway, imagining what it'll feel like when he wakes up, one day soon, to find her curled up against him – because it will happen, it really will. And he will whisper softly, romantically to her: 'My dear, shall I put the kettle on?' and she wouldn't have to say how many sugars, because by then he'd know her intimately.

He is jolted back to the present by the front door banging into his shoulder.

"Ow! Watch where you're swinging that door, Sid. You hit me with it. I'll be bruised."

"What're you doing lying on the floor?"

"Oh just – practicing my death scene. What did you think I might be doing?"

Sid sighs exasperatedly and shakes his head by way of reply as he stomps off into the living room. He sits down and begins flicking through that morning's newspaper, which has been lying folded on the table.

"What _is_ wrong with you today?" demands Hancock, following him.

"Do me a favour."

"Is it your mother? Is she getting worse?"

"No, she's getting better. She'll be alright. Did you get that washing up done?"

"No."

"Hm. Didn't think you would." Sid studies the newspaper carefully, and refuses to acknowledge his housemate's presence further.

Hancock decides to preserve the remains of his happy mood by taking his script and walking the long way round to the rehearsal.


	3. Heat

Ten to eight. Sid and Judy have just arrived back from the hospital; Their mother's condition had seemed to be steadily improving, and she'd been pleased to see them apparently being at least civil to each other. Judy had added to the illusion by taking her brother's arm as they left the ward, although he had shaken her off and begun walking a few paces ahead of her as soon as they were out in the corridor, and sat at the other end of the bus to her on the ride home. Even sitting side-by-side on a wall sharing a large portion of fish and chips, they had nothing but icy glares for each other. Now there's a heavy, tense atmosphere in the room as they both sit in their respective seats, sulkily avoiding each other's attention.

"I'll tell you what," says Sid at length, "why don't you put it on the table while he's out, and we'll say nothing about it."

"I don't know _what _you're talking about."

"Yes you do. Come on, don't give me any of your codswallop. Old Hancock might be clueless and deluded, but not me – I saw it when you took your purse out of your bag. Leave it on the table, and I won't tell him you took it."

"What did I just say? _I don't know what you mean."_

"Alright then, I'll tell him you took his lighter – he'll believe me when I show him it in your handbag. I'll tell him about your thieving ways. And I'll tell him what else you like to get up to, too. I'll have to deal with him when he's upset, but it'll be worth it to get you out of here. I'll leave you to explain it all to Mum, and find yourself somewhere else to stay. Or, you can leave the lighter on the table, keep your thieving paws to yourself in future, and make it easy on all of us."

Judy narrows her eyes, pouts, glares at her own feet like a little girl caught telling a lie; but in the end, reaches into her handbag and lifts out Hancock's lighter – a squareish steel one with his initials engraved on it. She places it in the middle of the table.

"There. Happy?"

"What would Dad have said?" asks Sid.

"Oh, don't talk to me like I'm five years old!"

"You'll be treated like an adult when you start acting like one. What would he have said?"

She tuts and rolls her eyes, slumping back onto the chaise-longue.

"He told us..." begins Sid.

"Yeah, yeah, 'if you're going to steal, steal something worth stealing.' _I know_." she opens her bag again to find her lipstick and mirror, just for some displacement activity.

"Why do you do it? Why do you even _want_ a lighter? You don't smoke."

"Yes I do, actually!" she snaps back, glaring at him over her mirror. "I've smoked since I was fifteen. Not a lot, just when I'm offered one, but I do. Alright? Is that a shock to you?"

"Not really, but Mum wouldn't like to hear it."

"What, do you think she's going to have a heart attack if she finds out her thirty year old daughter has a fag occasionally? You can't blackmail me that way, Sidney!"

"Shut your face. Judith."

"You shut _your_ face! Sidney!"

"Make me."

"_You_ make _me_!"

"You're just lucky you're not a fella."

"No, _you're_ lucky I'm not a fella."

Locked in stalemate, they each glare viciously at the other like two cats sizing each other up. Luckily Hancock comes bumbling home a few seconds into their staring match, or who knows how long it could have gone on for, or how it might have ended. He slaps his crumpled script onto the table and flumps down into his chair.

"Oh dear, oh dear. Hello, Judy. And Sid. Dear oh dear oh dear. What an afternoon! How we're going to be ready in two days, I can't imagine. The set isn't finished, the costumes are all wrong, the leading lady's got food poisoning, it's going to be a complete disaster. I've got a good mind to say I won't be associated with it. I feel it's a waste of my – Oh, there it is." he picks up the lighter, and slips it into his pocket.

"You dropped it on the grass outside." says Judy – which is not, in itself, a lie.

"Well, thankyou!" says Hancock with slightly more delight than is reasonable, "Thankyou very much, it's so nice of you to pick it up for me."

"Ohh, thankyou-thankyou!" mimics Sid in a mocking tone. "It's so nice of you!"

"It's me, isn't it." says Hancock to Sid. "You're annoyed with _me_, aren't you. Come on, out with it."

"Why don't you go and wash up, hey? You've had all morning."

"No, I don't want to. I'm tired and fed up and I don't want to. I haven't even had any dinner yet."

"I'll do it, to save you two arguing," says Judy. "and I'll make some cheese on toast for you, Anthony. Would you like that? I'll put the kettle on while I'm in the kitchen too , for all of us."

"Oh, yes, yes, that'll be lovely. Thankyou!"

She stands up and sweeps out of the room, followed by an accusatory glare from Sid and a love-sticky smile from Hancock.

"I told you, didn't I?" Sid snarls to his housemate, "Don't lead her on. I can see it your face, she's got you already."

"How am I leading her on? I just like cheese on toast, that's all. If she wants to make me some, she's entitled to do that – just like we cook for each other sometimes. There's no need to be hovering over me all the time, my intentions towards her, such as they are, are perfectly honourable. In fact, I'm quite insulted that you'd suggest anything else. I'm not like_ you_, I'm respectable. I can – Ow! What was that for? That really hurt!"

Sid comes to the realisation, a moment too late, that he has hit his friend hard around the head with the newspaper. He's scared himself.

"I'm sorry! Hancock, mate. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to, I just lost it."

"You hit me!" wails the victim, shuffling further from his attacker. "You know I'm upset, and you hit me."

"And I'm sorry, alright?"

"Can I not leave you two boys alone for _five minutes_?" Judy calls through from the kitchen. "I can hear every word, you know!"

She returns a few minutes later with a cup of tea apiece and the cheese on toast. They are both sitting in awkward silence, still shaken from the violent outburst and making close studies of their respective reading matter. She asks if she can listen to the radio for a while, and sits close to it so she have it unobtrusively quiet. She notices Hancock glancing up at her, as if for reassurance; she gives him one of her warm, gentle smiles, but wipes it off as soon as she suspects her brother might be watching. Over the next half hour or so it becomes a game for her, much more interesting than her radio play – one minute adjusting her skirts to show a little bit more leg or flexing her neck sensuously, the next appearing all engrossed in her favourite show.

Hancock, trying very hard to train his eyes and thoughts onto his script, is becoming increasingly frustrated by his inability to keep either from Judy. He's had two months to memorise seven lines, but he was so complacent about it at first that – _you're obviously very clever and sophisticated_, that's what she said. He can't even take in what he's looking at any more, the letters don't form words and – did she just blow him a kiss? But he can't get caught looking. He's had his smack round the head, what's next? How can it be so hard just to commit a few sentences to memory – She's so perfect. How could Sid have kept them apart all these years, why does he still not want them both to be happy? Can't he _see_?

Sid is doing his best not to look at either of his companions, it'd only make him angry again, but also beginning to toy with the idea of kicking his sister out on the street next morning. It sounded like a reasonable thing to promise his mum when she was at death's door last week – yes, he'd look after his sister, he'd try his best to get along with her, but he's regretting it now Mum is recovering. Ever since she was a baby she'd wound him up like no-one else ever could; deliberately, maliciously, just because he wasn't allowed to fight back, and they both knew, from an early age, she was cleverer than him. Just being near her brings back the memories of being a sulky teenager always being pestered by a bratty little girl, she acts childish on purpose to bring him down to her level. He'd warned her before she came to stay, it wouldn't be fair to start playing her usual games with a fragile, suggestible little thing like Hancock, but it's as if she doesn't know _how_ to leave him alone. And he's just drawn to her like a moth to a flame. See how polite he is to her, how he goes all doe-eyed and absent when he looks at her, it's enough to make anyone sick. That's only after one day, most of which they spent apart! Idiot. But you can't just let your best friend get eaten alive, can you?

All three of them are aware of the tension in the room gradually mounting as they each keep half an eye on the other two – Hancock is especially jittery. So much so that as the grandfather clock strikes nine he literally jumps out of his seat with a shriek, one quivering hand steadying himself on the mantelpiece, the other clutching at his heart.

"You frightened me half to death!" he wails at the clock, "Couldn't you give me some build-up, a bit of warning? Can't you just do it a bit more quietly? You won't be having your chimes wound again if you're going to start springing them on me like that. You'll be the death of me. Oh, my poor heart. Dear oh dear, I can't cope with all this. It's so stuffy in here, someone open a window."

Judy hops up with genuine concern and glances at Sid, who assures her that this sort of thing is commonplace in this house and then suggests Hancock might benefit from an early night.

"Yes. Yes, maybe that's what I need. It's been a long day, hasn't it. I'll have a bath, and go to bed. Yes. Well, goodnight both of you." he begins to edge towards the door. "Thankyou for my cheese on toast, Judy."

"You're welcome."

"And for my tea."

"Heehee! You're welcome."

"Well, um – goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Are you going, or not?" says Sid.

"Yes, I am. Goodnight." Out of excuses to stay close to his beloved any longer, he stomps off up the stairs.


	4. Something Doesn't Happen

It's been many years since Hancock last had a serious look at his wardrobe; but it seems somehow disrespectful to appear before the lovely Judy in the slightly grey shirt with a button missing or the trousers that fitted much better a few years ago. The socks-without-any-holes situation is looking particularly desperate, and he'd die, just _die_, if she saw some of these cardigans. He's lucky there's been such a heatwave lately, if he'd answered the door wearing one of these holey old sacks she'd have run a mile in the opposite direction, bookshelf or no bookshelf. The challenge of the morning is to balance looking presentable with getting downstairs before Sid, and stealing a few precious moments alone with his love. Having cobbled together a reasonably decent outfit and combed his hair until it will at least lie flat, he begins the decent of the staircase. The sound of _her_ voice is drifting up to meet him from the living room, and he follows it to its source as if hypnotised.

"My flatmates, you see, they started accusing me of – oh, all sorts of horrible things! They both said I was stealing their money, then one said I was flirting with her boyfriend, and then they ganged up with the landlady and she said I had two days to pack up and get out. So I called my brother, he said I could stay here for a while. I was meant to arrive today really, but I just couldn't stay there with them all being so awful to me. Oh, good morning Anthony! I was just telling Mrs. Crevatte about where I used to live."

Hancock stands awkwardly in the doorway, biting his lip, struggling to remember the correct response to 'good morning'. Ever since he left the room last night he's wanted nothing more than to see her again, and now she's sitting at the table in front of him, she's too beautiful to look at.

Mrs. Crevatte, who has been making a half-hearted show of dusting whilst listening to the story, announces that she's finished in here and will now go to put the breakfast on.

"Anthony, could you do me a favour?" asks Judy, beckoning him closer, as soon as the housekeeper has left the room. "Could you do me up?"

"...Do you up?"

She turns around in her seat and lifts her loose hair, showing him an undone zip on the back of her dress – white with black edging. He cautiously approaches, struggling to find a balance between looking over-eager and disinterested. Standing behind her, he takes the zip-pull between finger and thumb, and gives it a little tug. It moves a couple of teeth up then sticks, and pulls on her dress.

"Erm, I'm going to have to, err, put my hand on your back – if that's alright? I don't mean to, I mean, I'm not trying..."

"It's alright," she giggles, "I know you're a nice man. Come on, zip me up."

The dress is close-fitting around the waist and if anything slightly too tight across her breasts, which makes the task an overly drawn-out and quite flustering one for our hero. Eventually the last pair of teeth click together between her shoulder blades, and his quivering fingers linger for a moment on her back before she stands up and gives him a twirl.

"_Thankyou!_" she breathes, very close to his ear. As she turns away she emits a strange choking snort from her nose, as if struggling not to crack up laughing.

"What – what was that?"

"Oh, it's just the pollen, I always sneeze a lot in Summer. I'm fine, really."

"I've probably got something for it in the kitchen cupboard. I've got every pill or potion you can think of in there, must be enough to knock out an elephant. No, you never need be ill in this house. Take anything you like."

"Thankyou, I'll bear that in mind. I'll go and do my hair now. See you soon, Sweetie."

Judy flees the room just as her brother enters, and flashes him a smirk as they pass in the hallway.

"What's been going on in here then?" he snarls as he sits at the table.

"What do you mean, 'going on'? How could _anything_ have been 'going on' while Mrs. Crevatte's been in and out?" Although, he does feel as if something's happened; his hands are still trembling, his face feels hot.

"Well, don't let it."

"You don't even seem to like her very much, I don't know why you feel the need to keep such a close eye on me. How long's it going to go on for?"

" She'll be gone by Sunday. I told her last night, when you'd gone to bed, she has to find somewhere else this weekend."

"Or what, you'll kick the poor girl out on the street? How _could_ you?! Anyway, it's my house, she's technically my guest. I seem to remember you were only here on a temporary arrangement. How many years ago was that?"

"_Now_ who's being threatening?"

"It's not a threat, it's a warning," says Hancock sniffily. "I don't want you getting thrown out."

"Look, that isn't what I meant..." sighs Sid, exasperated, passing a hand over his eyes as he struggles to think of a better way of wording his concerns, but his train of thought is derailed by Mrs. Crevatte plonking his breakfast in front of him. Shortly afterwards they are joined by Judy; it's only after she has breezed off out to work and been followed by the housekeeper that he continues. "When I said you're going to get hurt, yeah? I didn't mean I'd beat you up, I meant – she'll break your heart. And I don't want to have to put up with you when that happens, OK?"

"Oh, rubbish."

"I know, I know it's not something you want to believe, but I've seen it before. She's just playing games with you. You're not the first, not by a long way, and you won't be the last."

"Aah well, I suppose I appreciate your concern," says Hancock, somewhat placated, "but we all have baggage, don't we? And with all due respect, you haven't seen her for a long time. She's changed since then, she's grown up. Can't you see that? Or do you just find it unthinkable that an attractive woman might actually see some good in me? I bet that's what it is. You never had much respect for me."

"You're determined, aren't you. You're really hooked."

"Sometimes I think you _want_ me to be alone and unhappy."

"Sometimes, boy – I do." He gulps down his tea and leaves before Hancock has chance to think up a comeback.


	5. The Making of an Owl

Overall, the day had started to pick up after that. Whilst sorting through his wardrobe it had occurred to our hero to empty the pockets of everything he was about to dump in the bin, whereupon he discovered a total of three shillings fivepence, a pencil, and a sticky but still edible mint humbug that he'd completely forgotten all about. So that had been nice. Then, having had another look through his script, he'd found that it was actually only one line that was throwing him; so having concentrated on repeating it a few times, with the actions, he's now much more confident about his part, if nothing else. And after that, Judy came along and told him to lie face-down on the table with his shirt off, which he was somewhat dubious about at first but now he certainly isn't regretting giving in to her. And when she'd first stood over him and pressed her thumbs into the back of his neck he'd almost backed out – it had hurt! But then, as something cracked and she began to work her way down his back, popping and grinding things back into place with her strong hands, he'd realised it was _good_ pain, cathartic pain, all the years of slouching and hunching being dispelled.

"You like that, don't you?" she purrs in his ear as she digs her knuckles into his left shoulder.

"Mmm. Yes... Yes, it's nice." He replies quietly, almost sleepily. "I needed this."

"Oh, you did! It was very brave of you to take off your shirt for me, you know. But – well, I knew you were better than ordinary people, didn't I?"

"Well, you and me, Judy... we're just made to be together, aren't we? It was cruel of Sid to keep us apart all these years – Ooh, yes, right there... Aah... thankyou - Do you know what he told me this morning?"

"What did he say?"

"He said you'd break my heart. He said you were playing games with me."

"Oh, that's just the sort of thing he _would_ say, isn't it? He's such a filthy liar."

"Ha! Tell me about it."

"I bet he's just jealous that his best friend's not paying him as much attention any more. He's always been jealous of me." She gradually eases off pummelling his back and begins to stroke it instead. "He told me I have to leave this weekend. I was going to anyway, I just don't like the way he said it to me."

"I won't make you go if you want to stay longer."

"You can always come and visit me?" she says as she lifts the shirt from the back of Hancock's chair and sweeps it over his shoulders like a cape. "Well, I think you're done. Sit up, Sweetie."

Relaxed almost to the point of sleepiness, he begins to gradually coax his spine into action – it feels like she's given him a new back, he can't remember ever having felt this tall and flexible.

"Oh, Judy! It's amazing, I can look at the ceiling! Ooh-hoo, look, look at me, looking at the ceiling! I can turn my head right round and look behind me, it's like being an owl! I'm an owl, Judy, you made me an owl!"

"Heehee! I told you you'd like it." She hops up onto the table beside him, slips her arms around his waist and gives him another little kiss on the cheek. "Come on, Anthony. Put your arms around me. Let's just have a cuddle before I go back to work, hey?"

He can do nothing but obey her. Gradually at first but with gathering confidence he wraps his arms around her, nuzzles into her neck, kisses at her jawbone, trying out his new spine. Panting, almost sobbing with happiness as she stokes his face, kisses his forehead, ruffles his hair. Doe-eyed and helpless in her hands.

"Good boy..." she breathes in his ear, "My good, good boy. Sweet little fool."

"Don't go to work, Judy. Don't leave me."

"I've got to earn my pennies, Sweetie!"

"No, no! Don't go. I love you."

"Oh, you poor thing. I'll tell you what we'll do. Tonight, when my brother's gone to sleep, you sneak down here and - we'll have some _fun and games_, yes?"

"...Fun... and games?"

"I think you know what I mean. Don't you?" she licks her lips sensuously and gives him a long, deliberate wink.

"Oh! Oh, you mean... you mean... _that_?" his jaw drops and eyes grow round with amazement, trepidation, joy, disgust, anticipation, bafflement.

"I do mean_ that_, yes." She throws back her head, laughing in the style of Marilyn Monroe. "Just for you. Because you're so special and lovely. And - oh, Anthony! I just _want_ you!" She kisses him again, hard, on the lips; Quite literally gobsmacked, he flails helplessly until she lets him go.

"Can we, um, can we try that again? I wasn't ready."

"All in good time, Sweetie. First, I need you to do me a favour."

"Anything. Anything you want."

"It gets so hot in my little office at work, you know? All morning, I've been wishing I hadn't put these stockings on... they get so sticky." she begins hitching her skirt up, little by little, over her knees, up her thighs, over her decorative lace stocking-tops.

"Dear oh dear..." murmurs Hancock, struggling, really struggling, not to look.

"It's alright, Sweetie. You can have a look. Look all you like." She takes his hand in hers, kisses and caresses it briefly, and presses it to the hook on her suspenders. "You can touch... go on, undo it. You know you want to. It's alright."

"Madam!" he exclaims, in a desperate attempt to pull himself together. "Madam, I think this has really gone _quite_ far enough!"

"Oh – oh, I see!" she purrs gently, stroking his face again. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"Well, I – I've very nearly been past third base a few times – I don't mean _a lot, _I just mean – you know, more than once – twice, um - just the right number of times."

"It's alright Sweetie, don't worry. I'll show you what to do, I'll look after you. Just do as I tell you, you'll be fine. Clever people like us, we don't have to ask why, do we? You'll like it. Come on, just undo the hook, good boy. You know you want to _really_, don't you? There, that's right." Slowly, carefully, she soothes his panic away and coaxes him back into the game. She strokes his back as he reaches for the hook, struggles with it, panics a little again, catches his finger and gasps with pain.

"Oh, forget it, you're making me late for work. I'll just do it myself." She whips her stockings off in two seconds and tosses them into a corner of the room where her belongings are starting to pile up. Her cheerful and caring demeanour shattered, she drops down off the table and marches off to put on her shoes.

"Judy? I did it wrong, didn't I. I'm sorry. Please..." he follows her into the hallway, falls to his knees, hangs on to the hem of her skirt. It feels alien to be crawling around on the floor after her begging and scraping, but she's worth a little humiliation.

"No, no, everything's fine, you'll be alright." She hurriedly shoves her feet into her shoes, putting her warm smile back on and stroking his hair as she turns to leave. "I'm just late for work Sweetie, I've got to rush."

"You're not mad with me? You still want me? You'll still – still - you know – tonight?" Beg, beg, beg. Begging is nice. Kneeling beside her and gazing up at her is nice. Feeling intimidated by her and yet still strongly attracted to her is nice. It's love, isn't it?

"Yes, of course! Don't worry. Just come down when Sid's asleep, I'll teach you how it's done. Bye-bye. See you tonight." As she turns to go, she blows him a kiss and gives him a playful nudge on the shoulder with her toe, which causes him to fall backwards onto his haunches and love her even more. He gazes up at her with huge, adoring eyes as she shuts the door. It's not something he could have imagined himself doing yesterday, but things are different now, a seal has been broken. All this begging and scraping and trusting her to be kind and merciful, doing as he's told and trusting her to be right, it's _sexy_. Much sexier than anything he'd ever felt he had to do with a girl before. Only... well, sexiness, it's fine in theory, but in practice it's dark and mysterious and terrifying and it's going to happen tonight.

"I'll be safe with you though, Judy?" he says softly to the image in his mind. "You'll be understanding, won't you? When we've got more time, I mean, when we've got all night and you can give me a proper lesson. Of course I don't care about your past, I'll not ask how you know, I'll not think of all those other men with their hands on you, undressing you, or – ugh! How many, Judy? I don't care and I'm not going to think about it, but it's awful. At least you can see that I'm better than them. 'A higher standard', as you put it. No, you'll never have any old riff-raff all over you again. Ugh, poor Judy – what have they done to you? I know I don't care, but..." he begins to fret and sob as Sid's words echo across his memory: _You're not the first, not by a long way, and you won't be the last._

No, it's not true, it can't be true. She _wouldn't_ just use him and cast him aside! Maybe to some substandard nobody off the street, but not to someone clever and sophisticated who reads proper books. Never.


	6. The First Lesson

Thursday night. It's late, gone ten o'clock, but there's still just enough sunlight streaming through the landing window for a small, round, pyjama-clad form emerging from one of the doorways to be clearly visible. The only sound is loud snoring from the other bedroom. Satisfied that the housemate is fast asleep, our hero takes a deep breath and begins the solemn procession down the stairs to the living room. What's going to happen when he gets there, he has only a hazy idea; but it's something that must be done, it's a date with destiny. He would, if he was going to be honest, be more comfortable with the idea of cuddling up beside her and listen to her babbling on about how wonderful he is, but – well, you're supposed to want this, aren't you? This... this whatever-it-is, this 'sex' thingy that he's heard jokes about and is dimly aware that other people do if they're lucky. Not admit to wanting it, or let it be known you're trying to get it, but to want it all the same. And yes, he has wanted it (or at least what he imagines it to be) on numerous occasions, if he was going to continue being honest – in fact, he's been increasingly curious, burning up with curiosity, all day. He certainly hadn't been completely mentally present during the dress rehearsal that afternoon, and sitting in the living room with her that evening, waiting for Sid to go to bed, had been excruciating. Just watching her, you know, sitting reading a book... But now it's going to happen. It's actually going to happen. Isn't it?

A stair complains loudly under his foot; freezing for a moment, he listens for the snores. They continue unabated.

"Anthony?" Judy's voice, cautiously quiet, from the living room. "Is that you?"

"Yes, I'm here my love." He pushes open the living room door, scrunching his eyes up against the bright light. Judy, lolling on the sofa with the book still in her hands, struggles not to burst out laughing.

"Oh, I'm sorry! You're just so adorable in your ikkle jimmie-jammies!"

"What was I _supposed_ to put on?!"

"Don't worry about it, really. Come and sit with me." She beckons him over to the chaise-longue, smiling her sweetest smile as if it isn't even slightly awkward. He does as she says, like a good boy, and wonders where to look, where to put his hands. Isn't she supposed to be telling him all this? The room's still stuffy from the heat of the day, he's a little breathless and dizzy.

"Well, err... It's good news about your mother, isn't it?" he falters, referring to a conversation they'd had earlier in the evening. "Home from the hospital in a couple of weeks. Wonderful!"

"Rule one, Anthony – we don't talk about our ill mothers, it spoils the mood."

"Right. That makes sense, I suppose." This has to be in his top five most uncomfortable moments.

"Are you sure Sid's asleep? He hasn't been in bed very long, I wasn't expecting you soon."

"Oh yes, definitely. I put a couple of sleeping pills in his tea."

"Ooh, you bad, bad boy!" she purrs, "So naughty. I like _that_." She lunges forward, aiming so that their lips collide forcefully, and gives him a long, noisy, open-mouthed kiss with such energy that he is pushed over backwards along the seat, completely at a loss as to what's going on or whether or not he likes it. She creeps over him, gripping him between her knees and linking her fingers into his, pinning him down with a hand beside each ear, so that she's crouched as if riding a racing bike.

"There. You like that, don't you?" she sneers, smirking down at him.

"Err..." whimpers Hancock helplessly, unable to move, breathe, or speak. Although he trusts her to be kind to him, there is something terrifyingly violent about what just happened and 'terrifyingly violent' is something he's only ever associated with people who don't want his company – even though, come to think of it, in a way, in this context, it is actually quite sexy.

"It's alright, you can admit it to me." Judy says a little more gently. "I know what you like. I can read your mind. I just want to hear _you_ say it. Come on."

"Um – yes? Yes, I like it."

"There, that wasn't too hard, was it?" she leans forward, kisses him on the lips again, but then hops off her mount and stands beside him on the floor before he can react. "You go and sit over there, against the table-leg. I just need to get something from my bag. Come on Sweetie, do as you're told."

A completely bewildered Hancock follows his orders unquestioningly as he watches Judy rummaging in her suitcases and fishing out what appears to be a coil of black ribbon and a riding crop, which she plies between her fingers and practices sweeping in arcs as she returns to his side.

"We'll just start off with these, seeing as you're new..." she says, only partially to him, as she keels on the floor behind him and pulls his arms back around the table leg, then ties his wrists together with the ribbon.

"Judy – why are you tying me up?" he sounds half-amused, half-afraid.

"Ha! You _are_ innocent, aren't you? It's just a little game. I like to imagine you might want to run away, I suppose." She presses the crop across his lips, hard enough to hurt slightly, and leans close to his ear. "Now, shush. Listen to teacher. You're going to have your first lesson."

"Right..." he whispers. This is nothing like what Hancock had had in mind, although judging from the exhilarating experience of a minute ago, she knows far better than he does what he wants. He nods submissively as she pulls up the nearest chair and sits on it, leaning over him and flexing the crop between her hands. Shouldn't this be a bit more – unpleasant?

"Rule one! You do as you're told. When you're bad..." Judy pauses a moment to crack him hard across the rump with her crop.

"Ow!" he squeals. "Why?!"

"Because I want to. Now shush! Rule two, you speak when you're spoken to, and you address me as 'Mistress'." She whips him again. He flinches and gasps with pain, she leans closer and runs her tongue over her teeth.

"But - but Judy, I thought..." he's cut short by another stinging bite from the crop, on the other hip this time.

"I said _shush_!" she gives him another whack. "What were you thinking, hey? What? Something dirty, I bet." Swish, crack. "Really disgusting. _Filthy_." Swish, crack. "Things you wouldn't want me to know you were thinking." Swish, crack. "I've seen you, looking at me. You think I don't know, but oh, I do. You want me, don't you. You want my body." Swish, crack. "You thought you could have some fun with it, didn't you, hey? You bad, dirty boy." Swish, crack. "Oh, you will, you will. But first, I'm going to have some fun with yours." She takes his lips between hers, as if for a kiss, but instead she bites; gently at first, then harder until blood begins to ooze. His eyes too are watering with pain – nice pain, just like when she forced his shoulders back into place earlier, only more so. It makes it alright that he's been lost in a mess of depraved thoughts all day, not concentrating on his work, being disrespectful towards her in his mind, if he's getting punished for it. And she's unbuttoning his pyjama top, digging her nails into his chest, watching him writhe and gasp like the pathetic little worm he is. She's enjoying the power surge, the superiority boost as he gazes up at her with those pitiful eyes of his and blood dribbles from his lower lip. Look at him begging, he's loving it, he wants some more. Oh, there's going to be more, lots more. As much as he can take, and then some.

"Tell me a secret." She hisses in his ear. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

"I... err... I kicked a dog once? Is this a different game now?"

"No – no." She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated and put off her stride by his non-cooperation. "I mean with a girl. The dirtiest thing."

"Oh, I see, right. Well, now you're asking. I once... No, that isn't _really_ bad..."

"Get on with it!" She swipes him across his bare belly, making him wince and giggle weakly.

"I think - it's probably this. Yes, It must be."

"Oh! You like getting punished, do you? Hey? You want some more?" She gives him a few more lashes, and he slumps over sideways to offer some fresh meat. "You're getting off on it, aren't you. That's _perverse_, you know. That's disgusting."

"_Is_ it?!"

"You just can't open your mouth without spoiling it, can you?!" She throws down her weapon in frustration and buries her head in her hands with a fierce sigh. "You're not getting into this, are you? Why don't you just go to bed?"

"Judy – I mean, Mistress?" He struggles in to a kneeling position, rests his chin on her knee. "I'm into this, I really am, really. Is this still part of the game?"

"You really don't get it at all, do you?"

"Well, you know, it's all very strange, getting tied up like this. I mean this isn't something that happens very often, or indeed at all, and I think I'd react in the usual way if it did, but seeing as it's _you_, I... I don't know, please don't be angry with me. I couldn't stand it if you were angry with me. Really angry, I mean, not pretend angry, pretend angry is nice." he takes on a mushy, babyish style of diction and begins to punctuate his speech with kisses and nuzzles to her knees. "Please don't make me go to bed. Please, Mistress. Do what you want to me, but let me stay with you. I just want to be with you."

"Alright, we'll give it one more go," says Judy, ruffling his hair and pushing him back against the table leg. "it's a shame to waste such natural talent. Alright, so you know, pretend angry is when I'm whipping you, real angry is when I stop. We just pretend that you're winding me up so I might want to punish you, that's what the game is, you see? And I don't want you to say anything at all except to answer questions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress! I understand now, thankyou for clarifying that. I'll know what to do now. How to make you happy. Happy Mistress." He giggles and braces himself as she gives his nose a playful tap with the tip of her crop.

"Good, that's the idea. Happy Mistress."

"Yes, yes!"

"Now, we need to get me pretend-angry, don't we? Come on, confess something. Who do you look at and think 'Mmm, yeah, I'd have her?"

"Ooh. Jayne Mansfield!" He falls into a little simpering heap at her feet as she lashes and scratches at his back.

"Oh! You think she's better than me, do you? Answer me, you bad, bad boy. _Do _you?"

"No, no! I love you."

"You're a filthy liar." she shoves him back against the table with her foot. "What do you want to see her wearing, hey?"

"Err... um..." he struggles to remember what he used to find attractive before he met Judy. The thick air is making him dozy. "Yes, a pencil skirt! And... a whip!"

"Aah yes, you're getting the hang of this now, aren't you?" she kicks the chair away and crouches in front of him so as to find a more ergonomic angle to batter him with her crop and her teeth and her claws, and does so. "You'll make a nice little slavie one day, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll do whatever you want. Whatever you want." There's no pain, no shame, no fear any more – just Judy doing things, which can only be right.

"That's right, that's right. Good boy. _Very_ good. Now you can have a reward." She smiles slyly, pushes him back up against the table leg, and admires her handiwork for a moment – the great Anthony Hancock, so much _better_ than ordinary people, so _sophisticated._ Look at him now tied up with his pyjama top hanging off his elbows, hair flopping limply over his right eye, his soft torso criss-crossed with welts and scratches. She's broken the skin in places. Look at that dazed face, sticky with smeared tears and blood, panting heavily. Not so superior now, are we? She gets to her feet and sits down again astride his lap, taking his face in her hands and licking up the smear of blood that runs from the side of his chin to the bite-mark on his lower lip. He makes a weak attempt to kiss her as her lips move close to hers, but she places her hand over his mouth and leans away. Reaching down her own back with her free hand, she unzips her dress with a lot less trouble than it took to fasten that morning and lets the straps drop off her shoulders.

"No, no – _this_ is your reward."


	7. No Practical Use At All

Hancock gradually becomes aware that he's lying face-down on the floor. All his joints feel like they've been wrenched the wrong way, and every inch of skin from his shoulders down to his knees is tender and burning. The air has a slight coolness to it, and seems to be drifting very gently across his back from left to right. His eyes feel like they want to open.

He finds himself to be lying over by the window, which is open to allow in some of the relatively cool night air. The sky is pitch black. He can feel his limbs coming back to life, his brain firing up again. He can remember something; his face pressed into Judy's cleavage as she struggled to unhook her bra with one hand whilst scrabbling at his hip and thigh with the other, tying to pull of his pyjamas. He can remember how she hissed and grunted in his ear, how she leaned forward and pressed him back against the table as the whole scene slipped sideways and flew away.

"Oh, you're awake." Judy's voice, calm and unconcerned. "That's good, I was thinking I'd have to call an ambulance. That'd be embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

She is sitting at the table in a plain white nightie, filing her nails. Since giving her unconscious conquest some fresh air and as much of a clean-up as she could manage with a dishcloth, she's been keeping half an eye on him and contemplating the concept of contempt.

Contempt is something she thrives on. Contempt for men, especially. They're so silly, so easy to fool. Some of them take a fair bit of persuading, especially married ones, but they've always sooner or later fallen at her feet and scurried behind her like obedient little dogs. Taken her out, bought her presents, driven her around in their cars, kept her entertained. And the funniest thing, the thing that she sometimes sets her off into a fits of laughter when she thinks she's alone, is that even when she's tied them up and shown them what she really thinks of them and hijacked their precious little protuberances for her own satisfaction, they still seem to think that it's_ her_ doing _them_ a favour just be gracing them with her presence. Oh yes, she's met a lot of men, and they've all been contemptible little fools; and this one, this one's the most pathetic of the lot. Nothing worth stealing, horrible little house, so inexperienced that even looking at her stockings is more than he can handle. No practical use at all. Though seeing as she's going to be stuck here another day or two, and she's come this far, she might as well try to glean as much amusement as she can from him. Because he_ is_ quite amusing, in his way, though not much of a challenge...

Yes, turn the charm on and off a few times, see what he makes of that.

"Embarrassing. Yes, it would be, wouldn't it." Hancock says slowly, still feeling quite groggy. He begins to roll over, groaning in pain as his weight shifts to another set of bruises, and gradually eases himself onto all fours instead; then, coming over briefly light-headed again, topples over sideways and emits another little squawk as he lands hard on yet another collection of injuries and crumples into a heap.

"Would you like a hand up?" asks Judy, who has been watching this entertainment with mild interest.

"Oh no, I'm sure I can... Yes, please."

Judy stands up, blowing the dust off her fingernails, and walks over to the corner of the room where she keeps her things to carefully stow her nail file away in her handbag, arranging some of the other items as she does so. She takes out a compact mirror and examines the arch of her eyebrows, and then a pair of tweezers to pluck out a couple of strays. Finally satisfied with her appearance, she crosses the room to the window and helps Hancock to his wobbly little feet. He lurches over to the table and leans heavily on it until he feels more steady.

"Am I right in thinking," he ventures at length, "that it's still Tuesday?"

"No, Anthony." Judy replies, "It's Thursday."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No."

"Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear."

"Look, you've not got amnesia or anything, you just blacked out for a while. Have a glass of water and go to bed. You'll be fine in the morning."

"Yes, yes, of course. I just blacked out, I'll be fine. Yes, I knew that, I just... I just panicked a bit."

"You did. Now, you'd better be getting to bed, it's very late. And it's your big day tomorrow. You don't want to fall asleep on stage and show yourself up, do you?"

"No, I certainly don't! Mistress, are you still... you still want to...?"

"Don't call me that now, and certainly don't call me it in front of other people. But yes, I still want to see the play."

"Alright Mist – Judy." He's feeling out of his depth again. "I meant afterwards. Our date."

"Oh yes, I remember. I've had a better idea, actually." She steps a little closer, trails her fingers across his shoulders, up his neck, into his hair. "Why don't you and me come back here afterwards? Sid's going to the dogs, he won't be back until... ooh... ten, eleven?" her voice has softened almost to a whisper as she leans close to his ear.

"Yes. Yes, let's do that instead, that'll be better than – well, whatever else we could do. Actually you know, I'm only in the first scene. I could sneak out the back way after that, we could be back here by eight."

"Ooh, I like your thinking!" Judy coos in his ear after a pause just long enough to make him wonder whether he really was winning. "Maybe you're getting the hang of this." She hitches herself up onto the table beside him, pulls him close, twines arms and legs around him. "Come on, put your arms around me. Good boy."

"Oh Judy. Can't we try again now?" he murmurs into the side of her neck as she presses on all his bruises. It's that nice pain again.

"No, I took my cap out. Go to bed." She shoves him away, drops off the table and sweeps over to open the door. "Go on, we both need some sleep."

"I see. Well, of course if you took your cat out – nothing can be done without a cat in, can it? Utterly ridiculous. Imagine."

"No. Now go to bed."

"Oh, well, um – goodnight then." He's beginning to wonder if he's made some kind of faux pas. She does seem very keen to get rid of him all of a sudden.

"Goodnight." She presses a hand to his back and physically pushes him out of the room. "Go on, bed!"

"Oh no, I've done it again, haven't I?" he sighs dejectedly. "Every time – every single time – I get pushed away. Even you. Why, Judy?" There's a hint of a sob in his voice. "You're the only person who ever really appreciated me, and you push me away too. Why, why? What's wrong with me, Judy? Why can't women stand to be near me? Am I hideous? Am I boring? Do I smell? What is it?" he snuffles, chokes, fighting back tears, crushed under the weight of so many memories of rejection; and this, the worst rejection of all, by the one woman who'd actually told him he was wanted.

Judy is thrown off balance by this sudden show of emotion, and isn't sure how best to respond. It seems too real to be fishing for sympathy – yes, that is a tear dribbling down his face. Well, first of all, he has to be made to stop. She steps forward and puts her arms around his shoulders, kisses him on the cheek, and says she's sorry but she's just very very tired and knows he is too, so they ought to both get some sleep and see each other in the morning. Reassured by this apparent show of affection, Hancock gives her a squeeze back –as close as his overstretched elbows can manage – and holds on until his nerves have been soothed and his desperate need for affection has, on a superficial level at least, been fulfilled. Eventually he allows himself to be prised off and sent upstairs to bed.

Stepping on the creaky stair reminds him, with a jolt of alarm, about how nervous he was earlier about waking Sid. What if he did wake up, and heard everything? That'd be embarrassing. Creeping cautiously to his housemate's bedroom door, which is slightly ajar, Hancock peers inside to make sure all is well. The snoring within continues steadily, quieter than before but still as slow and natural. The moonlight streaming in through the window is falling upon a supine form, still fully clothed, sprawled across the bed with one leg lolling over the edge at an uncomfortable-looking angle.

"Sid? _Sid_?"

No response.

Satisfied that three sleeping pills was enough, our hero retires to bed but has a very bad night's sleep. He can't find a position in which to lie that isn't pressing on a bruise, and his mind is still alive with the events of the evening just passed. Is that _really _what couples do together? Exciting as it was at the time, it would probably be more sensible to stick to hugging in future. Everything's so _sore_. Well, he might have another try now and then, but not if there's something important to do next day. It certainly couldn't be _every_ evening, unless of course he found some way of sleeping standing up. And still preying on his mind is the niggling worry that Judy might be annoyed with him and he doesn't know why; and, of course, the play tomorrow. It's sure to be a complete catastrophe. He finally catches an hour or two of sleep as dawn begins to ooze through the moth-holes in his curtains, but wakes after a horrible nightmare in which he's on stage but can't remember his lines, and his beloved is sitting in the front row and laughing, and laughing, and laughing...


End file.
